


The Virtue of Patience

by TarnishedArmour



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-14
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-10-04 15:51:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10282505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TarnishedArmour/pseuds/TarnishedArmour
Summary: He's a magic man.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally for...the Fortnight Foray on Granger Enchanted. *sniffle*
> 
> Beta'd by the lovely AuntieL - Thank you, Aunie!

Story Notes: I do not own or make money from the HPverse as used in this story; JKR and many others do.  
********

Hermione couldn't breathe. There he was, the man she'd dreamed of for the past three years. Right there. Wearing tight jeans, dragonhide boots, and a fang earring. Just like her dreams.

"Hermione Granger," she said, voice set to _prim and proper_ , the default setting when her mind was blown. She'd never admit it, but her mind was frequently blown here in the magical world, hence her usual tone of voice, which most liked to refer to as "bossy."

"Bill Weasley," he replied, easy grin still in place. His eyes weren't easy, though. Something about them seemed to drill into her and lay her open for him.

There was no hope for it. She had to avoid this particular wizard at any cost. She and Harry left shortly after that, letting Ron stay and talk to his oldest, coolest brother.

"So what's the story with Hermione?" Bill asked his littlest brother, noting that, this year, Ron had already started sprouting. It wouldn't be long until he was taller than anyone in the family, except maybe Charlie.

"Oh, well, she's really smart. Top of our class, always doing homework and studying." Ron dismissed the activity as being less fascinating than Quidditch, which, during the summer between third and fourth year, was a valid perspective. "She goes mental around exam time, and she even forces Harry and me to study." Ron paused. "But she's really good with magic. If she weren't so intense about everything, you'd never guess she's Muggleborn."

"Muggleborn, eh? But good with her wand?"

"Excellent. Always the first to pick up a spell." Ron grinned suddenly. "And she can get the twins to stop pranking, too. Don't know how, but she can do it."

>Bill was impressed. It took him and Charlie both to get them to settle down now, and that was _with_ their mother's disapproval and direct orders to cease and desist. The only person in the family who could get the twins to stop with just a word was, oddly enough, their father, who would cheerfully castrate his eldest if he knew what Bill was thinking about a witch nearly ten years his junior.

"Impressive," Bill murmured. He wanted to ask so many other things, but knew he didn't dare.

"Yeah. Gotta figure out what to get her for her birthday before we go back," Ron added, grimacing. "I gave her a book last year, but I don't think she liked it."<

"When's her birthday?"

"September 19," Ron replied, "she's almost a year older than Harry."

 _Fifteen is no better than fourteen. Fifteen is no better than fourteen. Fifteen is no better than fourteen..._ Bill kept the mantra running through his head, trying not to picture the methods Muggles would use to geld horses. His father would not be so merciful as to use magic.

Arthur rarely got involved with discipline in the household, but when he did, the offending party _never_ forgot about it. They also never repeated the offense. There was no abuse involved, but there was something in the patriarch's eyes that reminded the child in question that he wasn't in charge of raids against some seriously dark wizards and families and key to several successful anti-discrimination actions because he was a pushover.

"Though," Ron frowned, thinking about something he'd heard Dumbledore say to her on the platform before they left, "I think she might be older than that, somehow."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Maybe she's closer to sixteen."

_Sixteen is no better than fifteen..._

The window of opportunity slammed shut and talk turned to Quidditch odds and whether or not Bulgaria could actually win against Ireland

***

"Are you alright?" Bill asked, taking a long look at Harry, Hermione, and Ron.

"We're fine," Harry said, obviously shaken by the events of the night. The hateful green mark still glowed in the sky, and Bill tried not to throw up at the memories of his childhood - fear and doubt shrouding everything and everyone around him. His parents had tried so hard to keep the war away from them, from their home, but it was an impossible goal. Civil wars are the most vicious oxymoron.

"Hermione?" Bill asked, not getting any sort of response from her. He frowned. "Charlie, take Ron and Harry back to the tent."

Charlie jerked his head to the side and had Bill meet him for a quick conference, keeping an eye on the kids, but not speaking loud enough to be overheard.

"We shouldn't separate," Charlie said.

"She's not going to say anything with Ron and Harry here," Bill replied. "You remember how Gin gets. She'll talk to one of us, but not to more than one - that's what I'm picking up from Hermione."

"You think it's that bad?"

"More like it's something she doesn't want them to overhear. She might talk to you, if you'd rather - "

"Hell, no," Charlie objected. "You can deal with the hysterical women, I'll take the boys back." Charlie ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Mum's going to have kittens."

"Most likely," Bill sighed. "Look, we know they're safe, you know how to keep an eye on all sides, and we know what the threats are most likely to be - if there are any left at this point, which I doubt. Really, it didn't feel like any real threats were made tonight." At Charlie's quizzical look, he added, "Paranoia is part of my job, Chaz. You pick up a feel for a place, for events...and this was more show than anything. There wasn't any real malice here, except for the Mark."

"If you say so," Charlie replied. "Dragons are pretty straightforward. They're always hostile." Charlie waved to Ron and Harry, Hermione not paying attention to them, just staring at the green monstrosity in the sky. "See you back at the tent, Billy."

Ron and Harry gave a worried look to Hermione, but walked over to Charlie.

"We're going back to the tent," Charlie told them.

"What about Hermione?" they said, almost in unison.

"Bill's walking her," he answered. "He thinks he can get her to relax and talk to him about...whatever it is." With a gesture, he got the boys to focus on their friend, who was still frozen and staring up over the treetops. "She'll be fine."

"What about those people in the masks?" Harry objected.

"Bill's a Curse-Breaker, so he knows how to avoid dangerous areas and situations." Charlie's answer was obvious to Ron and himself, but not to Harry.

"So, he goes around breaking curses?" Harry asked as they started walking, leaving Charlie and Ron to explain what they could about what Bill did for a living.

Bill managed not to snort in disgust at what he overheard Charlie and Ron telling Harry about his job. Sure, there was a certain amount of glamour involved, the mystique of a dangerous and exotic locales, but mostly it was research, arithmancy, protective warding, protective spellcasting, dirt, dust, heat, sweat, a well-developed sense of space and environmental cues, and paranoia. Oh, and then one sometimes managed to break a curse or two without getting killed. Between that, the fact that his entire life could fit into a Muggle-style leather bag - only shrinking the books because he had a huge library of reference books - and the fact he couldn't sleep a solid night through anymore, he knew that the popular opinion of Curse-Breaking was in no small part due to the Curse-Breaker Alan Quartermaine novels that had been adapted by a Squib to be published as adventure stories for Muggles.

"Hermione?" he asked again, approaching her as cautiously as he would a statue in the Valley of Kings in Egypt. Ancient booby-traps and spooked women had a lot in common.

"So that's what it looks like," she murmured, still staring at the Dark Mark in the sky. The sickly green light winked out suddenly, and she moved her head to look over at Bill. "That was it. His sign." She shuddered. "It's hideous."

"Yes." Again, Bill was cautious in his approach. He did not need to spring her through carelessness and ignoring a tripwire. "Why didn't you respond to me earlier?"

"When you were calling me?" she asked, thinking. "I...don't know. It was important that I see that, memorize it. More important than anything else." She shook her head, obviously irritated with herself. "I don't know _why_ , though."

Bill took a minute, then said, "Are you ready to head back?"

"Not yet," she said, looking around. "I'm not ready to deal with your mo..." She stopped. Blushed.

Bill chuckled. "Mum can be a little intense."

 

"Not the word I was thinking of, but it works," she murmured. "Can we...walk for a few minutes. It's just..." She growled a little in frustration. "I can't explain it."

"You need a few minutes to get it straight in your head," he said, smiling then. He worked the same way, especially after something odd happened in the tombs. Something odd always happened in the tombs. "We can walk around for a bit."

"Thanks, Bill," she said, giving him a relieved smile.

Bill ran his mantra through his head again at that smile, and somehow managed to start a conversation with her. Even though he wasn't entirely sure what he was saying, he could repeat verbatim everything she said that night, even years later.

***

"Who's that with Krum?" Bill asked Charlie as they stood by the punchbowl, ostensibly guarding it from the depredations of teenage boys with a stash of liquor. In other words, they had a better chance of stopping the twins than anyone else.

"Not sure. Hang on." Charlie murmured something to one of the Quidditch team that he'd met earlier that day, and apparently the response was unexpected.

"So?"

"Hermione. That's Hermione."

Bill stared at the witch in blue. Her back was to him, those crazy curls were tamed and up in a beautiful cascade of ringlets, and that dress - _Hermione_ was hiding _that_ under her robes and t-shirts?

_Sixteen is no better than fifteen. Sixteen is no better than fifteen..._

"So why didn't you recognize her?" Charlie teased him quietly, knowing exactly how to get under Bill's skin.

"I think I did," Bill murmured softly, thinking about the way he couldn't seem to stop staring at her, stop tracking her movements. "She's incredible."

"She's also - what's that Muggle term again? Oh, right - jailbait." Charlie's voice became much more serious then. "And even if Mum let it pass, Dad would kill you."

"No," Bill said, sighing as he forced himself to look away from Hermione. "He'd make sure I lived."

Charlie thought for a moment, shuddered, and nodded in agreement. No, their father would not be kind to a son of his crossing certain lines, no matter how beautiful or mature the witch in question. Nearly ten years separated Bill and Hermione in age, and that would be enough for Arthur to be judge, jury, and executioner. Charlie shook his head, trying to get rid of the image of their father in a temper. It rarely happened, but when it did...everyone, even the force of nature that was Molly Weasley, walked on eggshells.

Several minutes later, they saw Hermione in an exchange with Ron, an embarrassed Harry watching, and then Hermione ran out of the Great Hall and into the gardens.

Bill swore, turned to Charlie. "I'll check on her. You collar Ronniekins and see what that idiot did."

"He's not stupid," Charlie said, thinking of the discussions Ron could get into when he wasn't overwhelmed with people around who were usually considered smarter than he was. "He's just - "

"He managed to get a girl on a date with an International Quidditch star to run out of a party where she is one of the prettiest and most envied girls in the room. Hell, even Malfoy was drooling over her." Bill was almost growling. "Go get Ron." With that, he left, expecting Charlie to do what he'd always done: take care of what Bill couldn't and have Bill's back.

"I hear and obey, oh great prat of a brother," Charlie said, just loud enough for Bill to flash him a brief, rude, two-fingered gesture in reply.

In the garden, past Snape blasting innocent flowers because he could and honestly, a hall filled with hormonal teenagers indulging in the dramatics that come with those hormones and Snape could never be a good idea, Bill found Hermione weeping softly, alone.

"Hermione?" he said softly, once again employing the same careful approach as he had on the night of the Quidditch World Cup. Spooked women and crying women were very similar, after all.

"Who? Oh, Bill." She sniffed, searched for a handkerchief, and, not finding one, sniffed again.

A square of white was extended, and after wiping her eyes and nose, Hermione grimaced at the square. If she had her wand, she'd Scourgify it and return it with a smile. As it was, she held it in one hand and managed to choke down more tears.

"Better?" Bill asked, voice soft and gentle.

"A little," she admitted. "Why are boys such...such…"

"Imbeciles?" His offering was honest, if weak. He thought Ron must be an imbecile to insult or upset this vision. _Sixteen is no better than fifteen_.

"Insensitive, obnoxious prats, actually," she admitted. "All he had to do is pay attention to his date, say hello to me, but what does he do? He accuses me of 'fraternizing with the enemy.' Honestly, what kind of stupidity is that? Viktor isn't an enemy, he's a competitor, and one date is not _fraternizing_. He may as well have said I was whoring around with him, or spreading for the entire Bulgarian Quidditch team _and_ Slytherin House." Hermione was on a tear now, and she didn't notice Bill's slight choke when she mentioned anything to do with sex. "I mean, I know I'm a bit older than they are, but there's not that much of a difference, is there? I turned sixteen in September, but really, Ron's almost fifteen, and Viktor is only eighteen. That's a three-year difference at most, but it seems like it may as well be thirty."

"There's a difference in age and experience," Bill acknowledged, still stuck on the idea that Hermione knew what sex was. He was fairly certain Ginny still thought storks brought babies to the house. By the time he had gone to Hogwarts, Bill had definitely known better, but mostly because he'd stayed up with a slingshot before the twins were born, determined to scare off any birds carrying babies to The Burrow. Unfortunately, his mother miraculously lost weight after going to St. Mungo's and the twins had accompanied her home. He had only been seven, but he had been able to add very well. Fat woman who talks about babies non-stop PLUS St. Mungo's at a strange time of night PLUS staying there for a few days EQUALS woman coming home with new babies and a lot less weight.

"Of course there is," Hermione scoffed, "but it's not like Viktor's tried anything more than a kiss. He hasn't even had his hands on my waist for more than dancing, much less copped a feel. Honestly, wizards are just so..." she sighed, "slow."

Bill turned on the bench to look at her. "I...have no idea what to do with a statement like that." The admission cost him, but he wasn't dealing with a witch at the dig site that knew what was what. Neither was he dealing with a little pureblood virgin. Muggleborn girls were, as he had learned the hard way while he was at Hogwarts, unpredictable. Some were more innocent than any well-guarded pureblood, others were virgins, but able to make Knockturn street-witches blush. He'd learned a lot from Muggleborn girls.

Hermione turned to face Bill, and noticed again how gorgeous he was. She really should stay away from him, but there was just something about him...something...magical that drew her. She hadn't been able to stop stealing glances at him all night.

"By now, at a Muggle dance, Viktor and I would have been told to cool it - to stop with the public snogging and the like - or to leave. There's every chance that he would have done a lot more than just snog me before we got to this date, even though we would have stopped short of actually..." She couldn't think of a good way to finish that sentence, so she just shook her head and continued. "After the dance, we'd probably go a little further, maybe even tops off, but that's all. Instead, Viktor is acting like some sort of Victorian gentleman at Almack's, Ron's being the special Ron version of idiot, Harry's too damned hung up on Cho and ignoring his date to be of any help, and I'm here in the bloody garden bitching about all of it to...you." She huffed. "And you'd probably rather be anywhere else, just so you don't have to listen to me complain."

Bill thought about it for a moment. "No." His short answer made her eyebrows fly up in disbelief, so he elaborated. "Viktor is behaving like a whatever it was you said because he's a guest here and you're not exactly the kind of easy witch that hangs out near the locker room. If he steps too far out of line, especially because of the presumed alliances with Slytherin and that set, there could be trouble that rebounds on you."

"I hadn't considered that," Hermione admitted.

"Add to that the fact that he _is_ a Quidditch star and he is most certainly not a gentleman with those kinds of witches - I've heard many stories about those kinds, believe me - and you're a Muggleborn girl, he's probably decided to err on the side of caution."

"What does my birth have to do with anything?" she griped.

He decided to be blunt. "It's like this: Pureblood girls fall into one of two categories, the easy lay or the virgin bride. There is no in-between, and almost none are the former. Half-blood girls are pretty relaxed, but they're usually going to wait until they're married or in a very stable relationship, and that's almost never while they're at Hogwarts. Muggleborn girls, though," he shook his head, "are impossible to figure out. A girl that says the wildest, wickedest things slapped me so hard I saw stars - and that was for stealing a kiss. On the cheek. No hands, nothing else." At her curious look, he grinned. "Fifth year. Wisteria Prinn. Then, a girl I could have sworn didn't know there was a difference between males and females dragged me into a broom closet and..." He remembered who he was talking to. "Let's just say I learned more about anatomy than I had ever thought I could, and I learned it by feel because that broom closet was damned dark."

Hermione laughed. Bill luxuriated in the sound, since it was so very different from the insipid giggle that most girls used when broom closets and the various activities couples got up to inside them were mentioned.

"So he's not sure what you're going to do, or why, or what would upset you. He's not sure about kissing you too much, much less anything else, so he's going to be very, very careful to let you lead."

"That actually makes sense," she said softly. After a minute's thought, she nodded, stood, and brushed off her skirt. "Thanks, Bill," she said with a smile. Then, impulsively, she leaned over and kissed him full on the lips.

Bill, surprised, responded instinctively and the kiss deepened quickly. Eyes closed, breath coming shorter, something else becoming longer and harder, he gripped the stone of the bench and even his mantra wasn't helping him stop what her lips were doing so perfectly to his. Finally, she broke off the kiss, and gave him a hot, knowing look.

"I've wanted to do that since I saw you," she whispered. Then, in true Muggleborn girl fashion, she didn't stay to see what he would say or do, but turned and fled back to the Great Hall and her date.

"Bloody, buggering fuck," Bill breathed, not knowing Snape was hovering in the shadows.

"She's too young," the low, dangerous voice said from the shadows.

"I know," Bill replied, closing his eyes and repeating his mantra to himself over and over. "Fuck me, but I know."

Snape waited until Bill looked at him again, blue eyes tormented by denied desire, and nodded once, the movement as sharp and precise as any the man made. He turned with a billow of his robe, then stopped.

A moment's hesitation.

A look over his shoulder.

"Don't let her go," Snape said, his voice low and deep with some emotion that Bill couldn't name. "Even if she's Muggleborn and confuses the hell out of you, don't let her go. She's worth it."

With that, the dour Potions Master left the private area of the garden to destroy innocent roses and mutter about hormonal teenaged idiots, leaving a confused and bemused Bill Weasley to try and figure out exactly what had just happened. He wasn't going to attempt the 'why' just yet. 'What' would be enough.

***

Bill watched as Viktor Krum pulled Hermione out of the lake and kissed her long and hard on the dock, in full view of everyone.

Charlie nudged him with an elbow.

"So, you think that's going anywhere?" he asked, needling his older brother.

"Go fuck yourself, Chaz," Bill snarled back. He'd figured it out, and he figured that he wanted the dainty Muggleborn witch whose internal fire matched his own.

"Nah. More fun fucking witches, Billy." Charlie found it rather hard to breathe because his brother had uncanny accuracy when it came to connecting a pointy elbow to the solar plexus.

Bill's eyes didn't move from the kiss, so he noticed when Hermione opened her eyes and searched the stands, stopping when she saw him. Whatever she saw on his face - Merlin knew what that was - made her lips twitch in a way only someone watching her obsessively would notice. He tried to pretend it was just his well-known attention to detail, not his unhealthy obsession with her, that allowed him to see that little near-smile before she turned her attention back to the wizard holding her.

***

Grimmauld Place was quiet, subdued, and damned uncomfortable. Hermione looked around her and sighed. This was _not_ her choice of residences, but it was an important one since Harry would be coming in a day or so. She was only a little early, and Sirius had shown her the family library with no restrictions on what she could access.

She walked into that most-favoured room again and settled at the desk she had appropriated, only to notice that Bill had the desk that the Patriarch would usually use. Without some particular reason to address him, she simply nodded and turned her attention to the shelves. The titles blurred together, and she blindly reached up to choose a volume.<

"Not that one," said the voice in her ear.

Hermione spun around quickly, noticing how close Bill was to her now. Her breasts brushed his chest as he looked down into her eyes, something bright and oddly dark in those thin blue irises of his.

"You surprised me," she managed, voice oddly husky.

"I should say the same," he whispered, lifting one hand to brush hair from her cheek, "in so many ways."

"Oh." Hermione said nothing, just let her breathing and the subsequent contact communicate for her.

"I have to go to Diagon Alley. Come with me."

"Alright."

Somehow, Bill managed to back up a step and hold out his hand. Together, they walked to the Floo and Bill called out their destination as he threw the Floo Powder into the grate. They stepped through together.

Hours later, laden with the purchases his mother had demanded for the kitchen and several other things for Snape's brewing and his own work on a few of the nastier curses hiding in the house, Hermione spoke.

"What time is it?"

"It's about three hours until full dark," Bill said, looking at the sky. "Come on home, girl," he said, smiling at her.

"Home?" Hermione asked, voice trembling a bit as she looked him in the eye again. "Is that...where you want me?"

">Bill's breath froze in his chest for a moment. He said the first thing that came to mind.

"You don't have to love me yet."

Hermione nodded slowly, knowing he wasn't referring to emotional connexion, even though that existed between them.

"We can...do other things," she whispered. The weight of the bags in her hands was suddenly immaterial. She needed Bill to know what she was offering. What he was willing to accept.

"We call it 'getting high'," he rasped. Wizarding slang was oddly descriptive at times, because that's exactly the feeling one got when between the steps of relatively innocent kisses and fucking like rabid bunnies. Some of those steps would be crossing that invisible line and, if his father found out, could end up with him severely injured and her disgraced, at best.

"We call it 'making out'," she replied, "various states of undress are included."

"Come on home, girl," he said, transferring all of his bags to one hand and drawing her near with the other. "Let's get high a while," he murmured into her ear before turning on his heel and taking her the fast way to the front stoop of No. 12 Grimmauld Place.

Hermione followed Bill into the house and, somehow, managed to help sort everything and put it away. When Molly started cooking dinner, she slipped away, up the stairs to Bill's room.

 _Mum's going to be so disappointed,_ she thought, knowing her mother's hope that she would one day fall in love with the Jacobs boy, her mother's old university friend's son. _He's not a Muggle. He's a magic man._

As she shut the door behind her and snuggled into Bill's arms, their lips meeting, her last conscious thought was directed to her mother. _Try to understand, Mum, he's got magic in his hands..._

**Author's Note:**

> This one, the muse did make a curtain call, as was demanded (originally on GE). As soon as I get the second bludgeoned into shape, I'll post it. It will take some time, though...


End file.
